


When calloused hands meet consecrated flesh

by minjazmin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, No men to mess up their lives for once :), Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjazmin/pseuds/minjazmin
Summary: Alana is the most renowned sculptor in the city; her pockets full from the commissions she takes. Such things do little to satisfy her; not when her muse stands before her, the most perfect creation the Gods have ever managed.An Ancient Rome AU where Alana Laelia is an artist and Maxima Vergus (Margot) is her muse.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger
Kudos: 5
Collections: Hannibal flashfic 7





	When calloused hands meet consecrated flesh

The dust from the street flittered in through the open door as she worked. Toned muscles flexing as she minutely shifted the carving tool in her hand. Each hit of the hammer, each blow to the blade, each chip leaving the marble block before her; done so with unbridled intentionality. The final piece was so easy to envisage and she knew she would make it so. It would be perfect because it could be nothing less. 

Outside on the street, passers-by stopped in their tracks to peer in. It was usual that they were too timid to step across the threshold; her workshop _was_ a sanctified place to her, but she was more than willing to share. Those who stepped through tended to be the ones with enough money that knocking over one of the many pieces on display would burn no hole in their pocket. 

The larger statues of more complex and intricate design; Goddesses, Graces, Empresses, lined the walls. It was uncommon that people bought these, they usually had their own designations which they expected her to adhere to. A certain floral arrangement to complement those which they kept in their home, a certain hairstyle to match that which the buyer styled themselves, a certain display to invoke the most loving or deific or brutal imagery. There was little she would not do; there was nothing she could not do. 

On the table at the back sat the statuettes, miniatures which were brought by those who cared not for the complex intricacy but for the symbolic purpose that the idol brought. Whether for fertility, good fortune, or freedom, her statuettes were intrinsically important to the women who bought them. This was a man’s world which she had delved into, but she knew what women really wanted, really needed when they asked for such wishes to be fulfilled. Alana Laelia’s designs were made not to mock or to pity those who needed them, but to give them the courage to fight for what they sought. 

The soft tap of leather across the stone floor indicated that someone had entered the workshop. An audience never scared her. In fact, she always luxuriated in the opportunities to present her skills. No matter the gripes of men, her willingness to be seen as she worked proved that their salacious accusations were nothing more than petty rumors. And jealousy, sweet and pathetic jealousy. Alana had come to savor the sight of their dulling eyes as they watched her work; as they realized that it was her responsible for every artwork with her name carved into it. No congratulations or apologies ever came, but the pitiful quiet that came over them was more than enough to satisfy her. Why would she ever need their approval when she was better than them? 

“I have inquiries to make, but if I do then I won’t have an excuse to stay and admire the view,” It was a familiar voice, but not familiar enough as far as Alana was concerned. 

“You never _need_ a reason to stay, My Lady. What is life if not to admire art?” A small smile curled at her lips. “ _Or the artist_?” 

“Are they not one and the same?” 

“Only when the artist pours themself into the artwork; if it is merely made for monetary gain, is it art at all?” 

“Are you saying you are not an artist?” 

Alana turned to look over her shoulder then; eyes eager to take in the sight and far from disappointed at what she saw. Maxima Vergus’ gown was a simple cream color; designed just for her, the color brought at the tan which kissed at her skin. Over her shoulders, a scarlet-red shawl had the most intricate floral patterns embroidered in gold thread. A lump formed in Alana’s throat, mesmerized by the wonder before her. 

“I am saying, I only lose myself in the most special of artworks. Where I am taken by a muse and it is all I can think of.” 

“Oh, and how does one come across such a muse?” Maxima questioned, her steps drawing her closer to Alana. 

“There are many ways one might do such a thing.” 

“Such as?” 

“Such as being routinely commissioned by the Senator to make sculptural works for his home and having to steal your gaze away from his sister as she wanders the halls.” 

“But never being quite brave enough to make the first move?” 

“One could argue the _first move_ was taken the first time the artist stepped across the hallowed grounds in which the muse resided.” 

Goosebumps rose on Alana’s pale skin as Maxima approached. Every muscle stilled to a halt; suddenly unable to trust the deft hands which never let her down not to shake. Maxima’s lips ghosted the shell of her ear; hot breath making her shiver. 

“And one could counter that the _first move_ would be if the muse were to commission the artist themself.” 

Alana’s pulse quickened as the woman before her gave her a smile that lit up her face. For such a thing to be asked of her, it was beyond an honor. 

“You want me to – Where would you keep such a thing?” 

“In my own abode.” 

Alana’s eyebrows furrowed; uncertain of what the words were implying but eager to find out. 

“My brother has grown ill; a pity at his prime,” Maxima stated. "The ostentatious building which I am expected, forced to reside in will go on the market for a wonderful sum. I will be free, and finally, I will have a home of my own.” 

Alana let a warm smile cross her face; Maxima replied only in the way her eyes beamed. Freedom approached. 

“The Senate will be a... different place without him,” Alana suggested, a gentle hand taking hold of Maxima’s. 

“I believe it will. I expect there will be much weeping – only it might not be for sorrow’s sake.” 

“I have no need to speak with such serpentine words,” Alana retorted. “The Gods will pour rains of joy upon this barren land.” 

“And we shall dance upon the newly consecrated lands,” Maxima replied plainly, squeezing gently at Alana’s warm hand. “So, does the best artist in our city have time for such a request?” 

“I imagine I can fit you in – but,” She chimed with a smirk. “Dinner will _have_ to be taken before we discuss the particulars. After all, I have been working since dawn at the whims of your brother’s designs.” 

“Such a shame if he is not around to see all his frightful compositions fulfilled.” 

“He mocks the Goddesses with his _designs_ ,” Alana threw a vague hand into the air. “And I mock him with the manners in which I subvert his demands right beneath his nose.” 

It was only small things; things which Maximus Vergus was far too self-righteous to see. The too-tightly bound curls on Livia’s head, the cheap jewelry around Agrippina’s neck, Aphrodite’s chiton falling across her body in a way that seemed so obviously incorrect. But Maximus failed to see her failures, failed to see the ways she mocked him in her designs. There was a thrill to imagine the eyes of another Senator peering across the piece as they perused the halls of his villa; they would see each mistake and know what kind of man he was. And Alana’s name would never be tarnished because Maximus Vergus would never admit that a female sculptor was under his employ. 

“We will have to drop them in the sea – take them where he belongs,” Alana mused. “And wouldn’t it be a frightful shame if some of my tools were to be misplaced and Maximus’ name was scratched from history? Nero will feel relief at another’s expungement trouncing his own.” 

“Memento mori,” Maxima whispered. 

“Damnatio memoriae,” Alana added, pressing her forehead against Maxima’s. 

Maxima’s eyes wandered back out to the street; remembering where she was and who she was all at once. Her steps receded, but her eyes were still firmly fixed upon Alana’s. 

“Shall we go for oysters or have you another desired dish?” Maxima asked. 

“Oysters sound more than desirable.” 

The little spot which Maxima had escorted Alana was beyond perfect; the high terrace which they sat gave the most perfect view of the world below. It was a place that would forever stay hidden to all those who did not have the means to buy a place at the table. 

“My lady, thank you for bringing me here.” 

“There is no greater pleasure than to dine with you. At least none I have yet discovered.” 

Alana felt a warm blush settle on her cheeks; her eyes were on the tankard in her hand, but she could still feel Maxima’s gaze hotly upon her. Before them a platter of oysters was served; the look in Alana’s eyes told Maxima that she was not well-acquainted with the particulars of such dining experiences. She took no haste in shuffling her chair closer to Alana and fanning out one of the cloth napkins to rest over the woman’s lap. She took an oyster in her hand and quickly used the fork to ensure the meat was detached. 

“Tip back your head a little,” Maxima ordered gently. 

The woman did so, but it was not quite right. Maxima’s fingers pushed at Alana’s chin until it was at the desired angle. Her pupils dilated as the woman before her parted her lips and waited to be fed. Maxima let her sit there for a moment, so prettily positioned and waiting for her, until she could deny her no longer. The meat slipped gently between Alana’s pink lips as Maxima tipped up the shell. 

“Chew.” 

Alana dutifully chewed the meat. 

“Swallow.” 

The bob of Alana’s throat was more beautiful than Maxima could have imagined. A small dot of sauce had dribbled onto Alana’s chin and Maxima could not help herself but reach over and swipe at it with her thumb. 

“Good girl,” Maxima said, watching the blush spread down the part of Alana’s chest exposed beneath her collar. She lavished in languidly sucking the sauce from her thumb, and the way Alana’s pupils blew out at the sight. 

“When shall you be finished with my brother’s work?” Maxima asked, nonchalant as if neither she nor Alana was feeling a heat stirring deep within them. 

“Nine more days, then I shall be free. I will be _all yours_.” 

“Where shall I meet you? At your workshop?” 

“Such an intimate process requires an intimate setting,” Alana suggested. “If meeting at my quarters were possible, that would be ideal.” 

A small nod sufficed as an answer. 

“You can choose the hour, but my impatience will grow thin if I am not able to start my work when my hands wish to begin,” Alana laughed as her eyes grew dark. 

“Hands of such mastery are allowed to be impatient.” 

The carriage arrived at precisely the time they had agreed. Maxima stepped out bathed in the midday sunlight; a blinding vision which Alana was more than prepared to lose her sight to. Orchid cloth clung beautifully to her curves swishing across them as she walked. Unlike any time when Alana had seen her before, this time Maxima’s perfect curls and more-than-perfect face were obscured by the presence of a thin silk veil which stopped at her shoulder at the front and carried on down to the small of her back. 

Through the wooden door, Alana saw her into her humble abode. The Vergus complex made the place look positively destitute. Nothing more than a little shack compared to the gleaming walls and perfect design of every inch of the place. But it was home, and Alana would not swap her and Maxima’s lives for a second. This was freedom. This was hers. 

The apples of Maxima’s cheeks were blooming as her lips came to a somber smile. This was what home was supposed to be; this was a far cry from the clinical harshness of the designs which her brother chose only to impose his power and status upon anyone unfortunate enough to cross the bounds. A handmade rug sat on the stone floor of Alana’s little home. Paintings of flowers and life and happy people hung on every wall. Mess; clothes and possessions that showed the life which was carried out here. Colors poured from every surface; all chosen for nothing by the joy they brought to the eyes and the heart. This was a home; her residence was an empty shell which paled in comparison. 

The woman turned to face each other; separated only by the air between them and the veil which covered Maxima’s eyes. 

“I have not seen you wear a veil before,” Alana said, unable to ignore the lump in her throat. “Are you betrothed?” 

“I wonder if I might have found someone whom I wish to marry,” It was a whisper, an uncertainty, a question too scared to be asked. 

“It is a mighty task to marry such a divine being,” Alana said, closing the space between them. “But if deemed worthy, how could one ever say no?” 

“If their convictions lead them to conclude it is too tumultuous of a task, there would never be judgment from me. Or from anyone.” 

Alana knew of what Maxima spoke; the rumors, the dirty gazes, the judgment. In the world Alana currently existed, she existed simply as a creator of fine art, as some judged purely on the talent which they possessed. Maxima did not wish her to cross over into the realm of her existence and find the judgment which came for simply breathing out of time. Almost no moment of Maxima’s life went unmonitored; but now, right now only they two existed. 

“Let us not think of the will of the world; let us think only of why we are here now. Why we have come together,” Alana said, letting herself lock fingers with Maxima. 

“Your works, they strike so beautifully against the dull rigidity of my abode.” 

“I must do all I can to disguise you from the rest of the world,” Alana said. “I find myself jealous that other eyes than my own may gaze upon you, and wish to distract them with pieces that vainly attempted to match your beauty.” 

“And here I was thinking you were in it for the money my brother provides,” She said with a chuckle. 

“All the money in the world could not buy me a view such as this,” Alana said, her eyes failing to blink lest she be without the sight for a moment. 

“You could travel the seas. Find that view.” 

“I would never wish to leave without you, and as such the sights would be missed while my eyes happily failed to tear themselves away from you.” 

A soft hand came to Maxima’s jaw; studying a face more beautiful than any she had ever created. Maxima let herself lean into the gentle touch. The scarred and blistered hands showed the years of ceaseless work which the artist had put in to perfect their craft. 

“What were your thoughts regarding the piece which you wish to commission?” 

“Well, I was quite happy to delegate the most of that to you,” Maxima professed. “But perhaps Aphrodite or Minerva.” 

“Let me –” Alana paused, studying the soft face before her. “Well, what worth is it having a muse if you are unable to sculpt her when she is stood right before you as a vision of immeasurable beauty?” 

Maxima’s eyes opened, widened as if she could not comprehend what Alana was suggesting. Alana wanted to sculpt _her?_

“It will be a feat to capture such beauty in the constraints of stone,” Alana’s thumb stroked soft circles along Maxima’s jaw. 

Pink cheeks bloomed a violent red; only so much admiration could be taken by one person before they gave out. And from someone who truly meant the world to her. Genuine words that were not made only to flatter or gain favor. 

“If anyone is to do it, Alana Laelia, you would be the one I trust.” 

It was Alana’s turn to blush at such generous words. 

“May I touch you – Position you... So I can sketch?” Alana asked, ghosting her hands at the woman’s wrists. 

Maxima nodded and Alana warmed her hands before touching the flesh. Working up her soft, tanned arms, Alana could feel Maxima shiver at the fingers ghosting across her. She worked underneath the veil and continued the light touch. Stopping at the collarbone, her fingers came to the brooches which held up the tunic draped across her at each shoulder. The perfect waves of blue and green which danced within Maxima’s irises were almost completely obscured by the blown-out pupils that were staring expectantly at Alana. With that, she unclipped them; and allowed the material to pool at Maxima’s hips. 

Gentle hands worked at the belt around her waist and the material cascaded to the floor. Before her, Maxima’s naked form was indescribable. A sudden fear arose that she, nor anyone, could truly ever do such a design justice. 

“You are more perfect than I had ever dreamt.” 

“You have dreamt of me? Like this?” Maxima raised quietly. 

A gentle smirk played on Maxima’s face; a self-assurance that seemed so often hidden deep within her. Alana allowed her eyes to wander across the great expanse of perfect flesh; the hardened nipples on inviting breasts which she was so eager to touch, her full hips and stomach which always looked so perfect in her clothes, supple thighs slightly parted and allowing her a glimpse of the wet flesh which hid between them. 

“I dream of nothing else.” 

The plinth behind Maxima was the perfect height for her; Alana helped her to rest her arms in the perfect position upon it. The pose was comfortable and open. A perfect casualness that suggested beauty was a mere happenstance. 

Alana’s fingers worked at the sheer veil that still rested over Maxima’s face; the material was doubled over and she unfurled the fold to reveal its full size. Hooking the corners across Maxima’s extended arms, the material painted itself across every inch, clinging to every perfect curve of her body, every dip, and protrusion, cascading down the perfect body until it stopped just shy of the floor below. 

Alana stepped back and had to stop the tears that welled in her eyes. 

The sunlight shone upon her; the perfect image of beauty. 

Aphrodite did reside in this place after all. 

“What is this little thing?” 

In Maxima’s hand was a tiny clay scale model; a scruffy imitation of the design which Alana had so perfectly curated. Alana turned her head from where she had been concentrating on placing the last few metal pins to see what Maxima spoke of. 

“Oh, that is a miniature which is then used to create the model.” 

Alana gestured to the full-sized model; made of inferior material and cruder in its design than the final piece would be. It did little justice to Alana’s vision. But it was necessary for the process. 

“And the pins which are thrust into the model are for?” 

Maxima’s finger pointed to one of the many metal pins which stuck out from the sandstone model. If not for her knowledge, Alana could see how this might be mistaken for an effigy used to invoke a curse upon the depicted party. Or perhaps the punching bag of a scorned lover, but both could not have been more inaccurate. In she stuck the last one and stepped back to admire her effort. 

“Points of reference to ensure the proportions of the final piece are exact.” 

“Oh, they must only be so accurate though?” Maxima chimed. 

“No, it does works very well if you –” Alana gasped as she felt Maxima’s hand wander across her chest from behind. “Oh - Well, there can never be complete certainty.” 

“I think you should take my measurements again; I do not wish for you to make any missteps.” 

Alana’s hands hurried to find the ruler on the table; stilling with it in her grip as she heard the light thud of fabric hitting the floor. As she turned around, she was greeted with the sight of her partner so perfectly exposed before her. 

She took the wooden stick to Maxima’s waist; holding her on either side so she could position it perfectly. With each measurement she took, she leaned over to her desk to jot down the numbers. Her hands and the ruler ghosted all over; the arms, the lower legs, the shoulders, the back. Everywhere except the place she knew Maxima was most eager for her to touch. As soon as she placed, it upon Maxima’s bare breasts she heard the heard of her breath. Almost a whine as it left her. 

She measured first the gap between her two supple breasts, then the individual height and width of each, ensuring that with every movement the hardwood or a determined finger would rub against her rosy nipples which were hardening by the second. Moving the ruler down so it leaned neatly underneath both of her nipples, Alana pushed her thumb firmly against one and began to slowly circle it. Underneath her ministrations, Maxima was unable to stop herself from rubbing her wetting thighs together; trying to find any friction she could against her wet vulva. 

“My lady, you must stay still. Otherwise, the measurements may be inaccurate,” Alana said, not letting up at the way she was playing with her breast. Her thumb rubbed against the sensitive nub without an end in sight, allowing Maxima to lose herself with only the touch of one digit. The woman was trying her hardest to still herself, but Alana was succeeding in making it torturously difficult for her. 

Just as she felt she was only mere seconds from climax, Alana pulled away leaving her chest cold and empty. Her warm body drew itself towards Alana, willing her to touch again, _needing_ those rough hands against her body. 

Deft fingers only took her hand; leading her to a chaise lounge and sitting her down upon it. 

“Get comfortable,” Alana told her. “Rest your mouth in its natural position. I need to measure it.” 

Maxima only did exactly as she was told, resting against the back of the chair and stilling her face. Making quick work of it, Alana measured the points and angles of her lips she needed and scribbled them down. When Alana returned to her position stood over Maxima, she had no ruler in hand. A hand pushed up Maxima’s chin until their eyes met; want and need bubbling between them. 

“Now open,” Alana instructed. “You can’t open it wider than that for me?” 

Alana took no hesitation in pressing two warm fingers into Maxima’s mouth before she even had time to react to her request. Parting her wetted lips, the fingers pushed in slowly meeting an eager, warm tongue that was quick to lap at the fingers as they pushed deeper and deeper. Around her digits, Maxima began to suck and mewl and whimper, losing herself in expectation. Such a sensation, fucking into Maxima’s mouth like this, was the most divine experience Alana had ever bear witness to. Between her own thighs, she could feel a great wetness; her underwear would be ruined. But she did not care for her own pleasure; she only wished to give her all to her lady. 

Finally, with a vulgar wet noise, she pulled her fingers from Maxima’s mouth. A string of saliva connected the panting lips and the wet fingers before finally falling messily across Maxima’s chin. Slow, wet fingers ghosted down Maxima’s body, stopping at her thighs. Shamelessly, Maxima lifted her legs and pulled her feet up so that they rested on the edge of the chair. Her legs parted and the pretty sight of glistening pink flesh and the milky wet that had trickled down her thighs. 

Tentative fingers moved down until they rested gently against the soft flesh; the spit covering Alana’s fingers mixing with Maxima’s wet. Slowly, she rubbed up and down the pink lips, parting them and revealing her wet hole and her clitoris. Her fingers grew steady with growing confidence at the blissful expression across Maxima’s face. 

Her hips twitched slightly at the gentle touch across her wet folds; bucking up as they moved away. She wandered the two digits leisurely across every surface; as the moans that filled the room grew needier, Alana turned her attention to teasing the skin around her wet entrance. She could feel under her the small bucking movements that Maxima was trying so desperately to hold back, as she tried to will the fingers deeper inside of herself. 

“Does it feel good? Do you want more?” 

Maxima could only spit out a stuttered string of please's as she bit back her moans. A concentrated excitement was building in Alana as she moved her fingers deeper into the wetness. 

Little gasps left Maxima’s painted-red lips as Alana delicately pressed one finger inside her and moved it in and out slowly. By the time her pace had quickened and her finger was going knuckle-deep, the woman before her was already a shaking mess. Alana couldn’t help but beam; she had never had the opportunity to get a woman in this state before and it seemed she was doing well. 

“Oh Alana, please...” 

“Please what, my lady?” 

“More I need more. Fuck me faster.” 

Reveling at the wet gasps it caused, she quickly pushed in another finger. Eager not to disappoint, she fucked into her wet hole with an increased pace and a greater urgency. There was nothing in the world more important than bringing her lady to release. 

“You indulge me, Alana – Ah – So much. So good.” 

“And I intend to do so for as long as you let me.” 

“That will be forev– Oh my, yes – That, just like that.” 

Alana’s tongue came down to swirl at her throbbing clit; within only moments, the sensations had pushed Maxima over the edge. Her hands knitted into Alana’s dark hair, pushing her down as she bucked up into the perfect friction her sinful tongue provided. The rising heat inside of her spilled out as wet covered Alana’s chin and breathy moans filled the hot air. The look of bliss about Maxima’s face as they met eyes was something that Alana wished to immortalize. To burn onto the back of her eyelids so she would never need to go a day without seeing it. 

They just stayed there for a moment, Alana’s head rested upon Maxima’s chest as it moved up and down with each ragged breath. The hand carded in Alana’s hair was much more delicate now; stroking lovingly against her scalp and ear. Maxima was first to break the comfortable silence. 

“Kiss me, Alana.” 

Alana quickly worked her way up to meet her face; how could she ever refuse such a sweet request? How could she miss out on her lady tasting herself upon Alana’s swollen lips? 

“My lady, I was not expecting you.” 

Alana jumped down from the platform which she was working on to greet Maxima. Donning a beautiful saffron dress, she positively radiated. The somber lines of her down-turned mouth seemed alien against eyes that glowed with a life that even Alana had only as yet caught glimpses of. 

“I thought it best to come and tell you myself.” 

Her fingers gripped gently at the flesh of Alana’s warm cheek, rubbing away some of the white dust which had settled there. 

“Maximus Vergus is no longer in the mortal realm.” 

“Who?” Alana joked. 

Alana watched as a gentle smile spread across Maxima’s face; a comforted hope that Maxima was more than deserving to finally feel. 

“Would you like me to come with you to the funerary proceedings, my lady?” 

“There will be enough false-wailers with extra gold in their pockets for the trouble, I need not bring you into it, too.” 

“Not a single false tear will leave my eyes for that insect,” Alana spat, then softening as she went to address Maxima directly again. “I would be going only to comfort you, my lady.” 

“The offer is most appreciated, but I do not wish you to see the most false version of myself. I only ever want you to see me as I am.” 

“As if I could ever see any less, the way you paint your face to walk amongst the crowd does not convince me. I know how you really look.” 

Closing the small space between them, Maxima pressed her lips to Alana’s in a soft kiss. So sweet and gentle, Alana moved only to gently lap her tongue against Maxima’s soft bottom lip. Maxima pulled away first and gently pressed their foreheads together. 

“They will come, Alana, they will offer you all the money in the world, and I understand if you are tempted to take it,” Maxima whispered. “But please, whatever they offer you to create his funerary tableau, I will give you more not to.” 

“My lady, the mere sight of you like this is more than enough payment than I could ask. And besides, Maximus deserves nothing more than a subpar version of his face to _commemorate_ him,” Alana whispered back, clutching her lover’s face as if she would never let go. “I sculpt goddesses and leaders and - and the most beautiful woman in the world; I would not lower myself to sculpting vermin. As much for selfishly wanting to protect my own eyes from the putrid sight of him, as for knowing that a man who treats his own sister so poorly deserves nothing of commemoration.” 

“I adore you, my Alana Laelia.” 

“And I, you,” Alana whispered before pulling her face to a devilish smile. “Anyway, what worth is it spending all that money when inevitably his face will be smashed in?” 

The perfect tussled locks of Maxima Vergus’ hair were a challenge that Alana refused to concede. Her techniques had never failed her; with ease she made stone look like flesh and fur and cloth. But suddenly her palms were sweaty with her ministrations. 

Perhaps it was not merely the task at hand which caused her. 

From the corner of her eyes, the lavender garment was the first thing she saw. The straps of black fabric twined around the waist, the bust, and the arms drew attention to the sumptuous lines of her lover’s body. In her immaculately curled hair, beautiful hairpins hid amongst the dirty-blonde locks. The makeup on her face was different from how she had once styled herself; rather than hiding her face like a mask, it amplified it. The copper shade on the eyes bringing out the blues and greens. The light rouge showing off her cherubic cheeks. The pink on her lips highlighting their perfect shape. 

With sweat on every exposed inch of flesh, tangled locks pinned back scruffily, and hands rife with fresh sores, Alana felt entirely inadequate compared to the angelic woman before her. And yet, her lady’s face beamed as if all the world were presented before her in Alana. As if Alana was the most wonderful thing she had ever encountered. 

“You look at me how I wish people to look at my creations.” 

“You are better than any of your artworks could wish to be. And it is not for lack of your skilled hands trying. Such seraphic beauty is uncapturable even in stone.” 

“If I am a ‘seraphic beauty’, what must that make you? Transcendent of the divine?” 

“You know how I feel about the blows which you aim towards yourself, especially when used to compliment me,” she said with a tut. 

“Forgive me, Maxima.” 

“I will forgive you if you call me ‘Margot’.” 

“Margot?” Alana asked with furrowed brows. 

“I decided a new name for myself.” 

“From _margarites_?” 

“You do not like it?” Margot questioned, a slight trepidation pooling in her eyes. 

“Margot. _My Margot_. How pearls wish to possess your luster,” Alana ghosted her lips across Margot’s own. “It is perfect, my love.” 

And Margot let herself be captured in the kiss, let herself be draped across the mismatched bedspread and ridden of her clothes. Let perfect hands with all their perfect scars run themselves across every inch of her body. Realizing the hands would never get their fill, and neither would she. 

It sat righteous; opposite their bed. Tall and proud, all-knowing of the beauty it possessed. All-knowing and all-seeing; encompassing the love which poured out from every crack, every window, every keyhole of _their home_. 

The sun shone through the window; kissing and touching at what it too wished it could possess. 

As the men who had transported the noble statue took their leave, and their payment, Alana’s eyes could look at nothing but the beauty which stood before her. Not the marble figure, but her wife. Margot; her Margot, a woman who was so immeasurable in her perfection that Alana sometimes felt worried to touch. Worried that such calloused hands were unworthy of such contact. But then Margot smiled; bright and joyous and carefree, and every worry dissipated in an instance. They were both exactly where they needed to be. 

“How long has it been since we began this project; since my muse came to watch me work?” 

“Too long; not long enough. Almost a year now?” Margot replied. 

“Oh my, a year.” Alana hummed. 

A year in which they had been renewed over and over. A year in which they now finally stood before each other as the most perfect and true versions of themselves. 

“What do you say to a year becoming a lifetime?” 

With great speed, Alana’s head turned quickly towards Margot; wide eyes and parted lips. A gentle hand was threaded into Alana’s own; pulling them until they faced each other. Both pairs of eyes glimmered with tears; with happiness and hope and a prospecting future which they truly wanted. 

“No formal process is needed for our agreement... I wish to give myself entirely to you if of course, you wish to do the same.” 

“What worth is a _formal agreement_? What use are words or paper? My love for you is carved in stone; immortal.” 

“You are the sweetest of all the fruits, my love. Laelia is right, you are the most perfect bloom.” 

Alana could not reply to the sweet words which her wife provided; there was no time between her ever-growing whimpers to get out thanks. Her wanton moans were all the appreciation Margot needed. Her wet fingers slipped in and out of Alana easily now; the wet mess spreading across the bedsheets and her pretty thighs with each thrust. 

Alana, too, was a vision. Beyond beauty was the level at which she sat; Aphrodite herself returned in human form in the perfect soft body of her lover. And Margot would touch and take all she could. Her fill and more. Until Alana saw her as she did, and beyond that. It was so wonderful to indulge in such delightful pleasures and to know no reprimand would ever come. 

Margot snaked kisses up Alana’s soft stomach until her mouth found the waiting nipple; hardening in anticipation. At first, she played with it gently; soft sucks and laps of the tongue to draw out such beautiful noises from Alana’s mouth. As she carefully teased it between her teeth, she reveled in the hitch of Alana’s breath and the way her hips came up to force her fingers deep. With two fingers still fucking into her, Margot moved so that her thumb rested upon Alana’s clit. The woman underneath her bucked unashamedly against the new sensation; drawing herself closer and closer as Margot began to suck pretty red marks against the pale skin of her breasts. 

“I want you to let go, my darling. Give into the pleasure. Let me know how good it feels to be fucked by me. I want to hear it.” 

The melody of moans and gasps and ‘ _Margot’_ were all that she needed to know just how Alana felt. Margot pushed her fingers deep and curled them into the delicate spot which she knew would aid her lover to her release. The driving of her hips into Margot’s hand was growing more erratic, more urgent, and Margot drew her thumb in languid circles across Alana’s clit, watching as she unraveled. 

The arch of her back was a more beautiful creation than art could ever capture. As she came Margot found herself unable to resist continuing such movements against the delicate flesh. The writhing pleasure was too much. As she grew more overstimulated, her thighs began to shake and the muscles of her stomach grew tight. 

“Margot, Margot – I don’t want to reach such a fit of exhaustion that I am unable to _return the favor_ ,” A quiet, breathy voice which made it hard for Margot to pull her fingers away. 

“You would deny me such delights?” 

“Only so I can give them to you doubly in return,” A tired arm made its way up to Margot’s nipple and delighted in the way it hardened between her pinching fingers. 

“Fine,” she huffed jokingly, crawling up the bed so she could see the blissful face for which she was the creator. 

As Alana’s eyes finally found focus again, she could see how pale of an imitation the statue really was. So much left uncaptured despite it being her best work. The waves of hair could never bounce as Margot’s did. The softness of her skin could never press and move as her hands came to caress it. Flesh would never burn red in delight or embarrassment or expectation. The slight curl of the lip which she had cast upon would never become a fully blossomed smile. The muscles of her stomach would never contract as she filled the room with her sweet laughter. 

The statue was nothing because it was not _her_. 

“You are mine and I am yours, Alana.” 

“Forever, my lady Margot.” 

*** 

The guide, Günay, headed up the pack of eager tourists; the damp heat caught them even here in the air-conditioned halls of the museum. They stopped before the two most pristine items in the collection. Their favorite piece which the museum held; the one at which they always stopped whether or not a visitor had questions to ask. All the world should know of such a thing. 

“Alana and Margot Laelia; the inscription names them. Official records suggest that their public names, their _official_ names, were Alana Laelia and Maxima Vergus. But the names which they took in their home were always Alana and Margot Laelia. Written together as if they were one. All the works within their abode were created by Alana herself; the most skilled sculptor in the city was none other than a woman.” 

The guide gazed on the pair as they had every day since coming to work amongst the dusty ruins which Aphrodisias provided. What the pitching sun, the unending heat, the ridiculous proximity from _anything_ and the subpar amenities did to drive them away paled in comparison to how these effigies of love drew them closer and closer to the place they now called home. 

“Now this pair is different from the rest; not found amongst the masses of sculptural monuments, within civic buildings, or within the homes of high-status individuals, the detail and execution seem out of place for where they were found to reside. A small villa on the outskirts of the city would not usually be expected to find such opulent design. But these two women proved that the expectations of the world meant little to them.” 

They pointed up to the large map on the wall at a small unimposing dot; away from the temples and the bustling streets, away from the endless noise from the theatre and the stadium, away from the people and the world. The pair had found themselves peace and tranquillity and Günay wanted nothing more to immerse themselves within their slice of paradise. 

“We attempted to recreate the exact positioning which they were found in situ; the self-portrait of Alana’s gaze eternally on the veiled Maxima. As I said before, it appears that they lived together; but Alana also had a place of work within the city; a workshop. No record of their relationship exists beyond their ever-bound names but the bounty of reliefs that Alana Laelia dedicated to the depiction of Maxima Vergus, or _Margot_ , suggests a very close relationship.” 

“Were they related?” A small voice questioned from amongst the crowd. 

“No, I would say the evidence suggests the opposite; their names bear no similarities and Alana Laelia moved to Aphrodisias when she was a teenager to train in sculpture, while the Vergus family name has long-held connections to the city. Maxima Vergus is the only recorded child of Vergus Caius Marcillius and it seems that Alana Laelia was employed by the family on a regular basis,” The guide paused, allowed the tourists to marvel and wonder for a moment before she continued. “Personally, I believe they were lovers. An artist and her muse. Maybe I am a mere romantic, but isn’t it wonderful to think this a vestige of their love immortalized in stone?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the names so if you see that they maybe don't make sense.. no you don't.
> 
> Memento mori means 'Remember death' - that death is inescapable to no one.  
> Damnatio memoriae is the process by which a disgraced Emperor/Senator/high-status individual's name is scrubbed from history (through the removal of inscriptions, statues, etc.), so they are forgotten and therefore cease to exist. Being remembered is hella important in Rome.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this, thank you for reading! It is entirely self-indulgent, but I hope it was enjoyable and sexy nonetheless! >;)


End file.
